Across the Mekong River (20 page)

LAURA

My morning started at five o’clock when Chou threw up. I got everyone ready for school and fixed breakfast. Moa spilled apple juice everywhere. Noa threw a tantrum. Boa couldn’t find her left tennis shoe. Finally, Father took my older siblings to school.

As I prepared to leave,
I stopped in the hallway and slowly opened my parents’ door. Mother lay in the bed on her side, turned toward the back wall. Her arm moved through the air as if she were beckoning to someone. She mumbled words I could not hear and let out a small cry. I called softly to her, but she remained somewhere else, a place I could not reach.

I dropped Chou and Noa with Ia
on my way out. It was well past the final bell when I arrived at school and stopped in the office for a pass. I explained why I was late to the attendance monitor. She was a pudgy woman with frizzy, faded blond hair. “Save the excuses. I’ve heard it all,” she said not even looking up as she wrote a late slip. “This is the second time this month. One more and you get detention.”

I slipped into biology class and handed the pass to Mr. Char
les. Opening my backpack I discovered the bottom of my homework soggy with apple juice and the ink on the last two answers blurred. Mr. Charles took my pages and raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. The cover of my book was damp and sticky. I wanted to crawl under my desk and stay there the rest of the day.

I slogged through the morning unable to concentrate on the lessons as I worried a
bout responsibilities at home. As always, my mother’s affliction gnawed at me like a worm wriggling deeper and deeper into my consciousness until it consumed all other thoughts. Ever since the miscarriage two months ago she had disappeared into her private world for days at a time, becoming nothing more than a faded outline on the bed, a ghost without substance. Unexpectedly, she would emerge one morning, quiet, but cooking breakfast and leaving in the van to work in the fields. Perhaps it was the unpredictability of her lapses that wore on us most. I watched the growing strain on Father’s face, his sagging shoulders, and sharp responses to my siblings and me. He hardly ate and weight fell from his already spare frame. Yet our shared burden remained unacknowledged. Unspoken.

I feared our argument
the day Mother told me about her pregnancy had contributed to the miscarriage. All my frustrations had escaped that day in a way I could not excuse. If only she had not pushed me about finding a boy and thinking of marriage. We had barely spoken for three days, until at last I apologized and told her I was happy about the baby. She had nodded as tears formed in her eyes. And we had carried on cooking the dinner.

The lunch bell rang.
I met Mary at her locker and joined the usual group in the cafeteria amid the din of voices, jostling of lunch trays, and smells of pizza and hamburgers. The sunshine pouring through the high windows did nothing to relieve my gloom. I sat quietly next to Mary, my arms around my middle, wallowing in misery and listening to the inane gossip. As the hour slipped by, I had less and less patience for these girls’ complaints about homework, a bad grade on a biology test, a fight with a boyfriend, a volleyball coach who was too demanding, the expensive outfit someone’s mother wouldn’t buy her. Their problems sounded trivial and ridiculous.

A mocking, angry voice whispered in
my head that I didn’t belong. I was a phony, a fool to pretend to be part of this circle. They knew nothing of hardship and sacrifice while my every free moment was filled with chores and responsibilities to family and a culture completely foreign to their own. Each morning I left the confines of our tiny apartment from a life ruled by ancient traditions and indisputable rules, speaking a native language of sliding tones and words with multiple meanings. I stepped out the door as if stepping out of a tiny village in the mountains of Laos and crossed the freeway to another world. Instead of my preordained Hmong fate, I found a place of learning that promised other possibilities. I smiled and giggled and gossiped, speaking English interspersed with the latest teenage slang with girls oblivious to the abundance and freedom that was their birthright but not mine. I smoothed the gaps and transitions with my lies, all the time struggling to remember who I was supposed to be.

Mary glan
ced over with a puzzled frown. She was the only person I could truly call a friend. I longed to confide in her, to be honest and true. Instead, I betrayed her with my secrets. The guilt wore me down, kept me unbalanced. At that moment I regretted every story I had ever told to her and my parents. And for what? To fit in with a group of silly, empty-headed girls.

Across the room, Blia and Mee sat at a table with the three Hmo
ng boys, Chia, Leng, and Blong. They were talking and laughing with a Hispanic boy from my history class. As I watched them, a lump formed in my throat. I didn’t belong with them either. I didn’t belong anywhere.

Mary came to my locker after school. “Want to get a coke?”

“My mom needs me at home.
My brother’s sick.”

“Can’t you be a tiny bit late?”

My sisters and Tong would be waiting for help with homework then permission to go out to play. A pile of laundry had to be washed, and stacks of clothes folded and ironed. Chou would be sick and fussy, and Nao, who had been particularly wild and difficult lately, would vie for attention. I needed to organize and cook dinner and supervise baths. Father was teaching English class until late. My homework and the newspaper article I still had to write would patiently wait until at last I was free. And once again I would fall asleep over my books at the dining room table.

I
looked at Mary’s hopeful face. “Just for a little while.”

We walked four blocks to Jerry’s Ice Cream Parlor in the shopping center next to
Safeway. Scattered clouds flitted across the blue April sky. Kids from school milled about outside at tables and on wooden benches beneath liquid amber trees coming into bud.

Mary punched me with her elbow and nodded her head toward Pete and Kevin.
They were sitting with Jerome from the basketball team. She bought us both cokes as I didn’t have any money. We headed to an empty bench. She patted her hand over her heart and whispered Kevin’s name.

I laughed and sipped my
coke, glancing back at Pete. I loved the way his white blond hair curled down his forehead and neck and his blue eyes crinkled into tiny slits when he laughed. He sat next to me in math class, pulling my hair and whispering jokes to me when our teacher turned away. I was not immune to his charms. When he flashed his big grin in my direction, my stomach danced and a warm flush rose to my cheeks.

“I should call to say I’ll be late,” I said, knowing Houa and Moa would be watching for me.

“There’s a phone in the pizza place.”

We walked into the restaurant that smelled of rising dough, spicy tomato sauce, and melting cheese.
My stomach growled, and I wished I had the money to take home pizza for dinner.

“Aren’t those your cousins?” Mary asked, nodding toward a booth.

Blia and Mee were sitting with the Chia and Blong from school. Another boy with long shaggy hair and an acne-covered face was next to Blia, his arm resting over her shoulders as he whispered in her ear. She saw me and started, pulling away from him. Her parents would not approve of this behavior. These were Hmong boys who knew better. If they wanted to see my cousins outside of school, they should show respect to their parents and ask permission to visit. But then, these were only our parents’ rules.

“Come on,”
I said and bolted for the back of the room. I called Moa and told her I would be home soon, something had come up at school. When Mary and I walked back out, the cozy group had vanished. We settled on a bench outside protected from the wind.

Mary put h
er head to one side. “How come you don’t talk to your cousins?”

“We don’t get along.”

“Do you know those guys they hang out with?”

“Not really.
”

Mary hesitated a moment.
“Sherry told me they’re from Vietnam or something.”

Hidden in the tone of her voice, the inflection of the words “or something” I heard a
question, perhaps a suspicion. This was my opening, a chance to finally tell the truth. I sat very still, staring down at the brown plastic buttons on my jacket. One had a small chip. My mind whirled with what I could say, how to begin to create a bridge to my past and present. A car parked in the space in front of us. The door opened. The driver got out and slammed it shut again. The silence stretched out. Words stuck in my throat, and I lost my nerve. The moment passed.

LAURA

Mother languished once more. Over the long, hot summer and early fall she had been happy working in the fields harvesting crops. The sun had cast a healing glow and the delta breezes soothed her. It had been a welcome relief for us all. But as the weather grew colder and the days shorter, something shifted. I had no idea what triggered the relapse or why she receded into her darkened bedroom and the familiar pattern of her illness. The first three days she was unreachable. Whenever Father was home, he sat by her side and pleaded with her to eat. He lighted candles and incense and prayed. Uncle Boua conducted yet another
hu plig
, bargaining with the spirits to bring her back, but nothing helped.

The only bright moments in my days came at school when I did well on an exam or had an
extra hour to spend with Mary. Mrs. Wong watched over me, providing guidance and advice. When the school newspaper editor contracted mononucleosis and was forced to stay home for six weeks, I was asked to take over. I refused to let the drain of my problems at home hold me back.

Into the muddle of my existence another complication
developed. It started with an innocent request. Pete Williams trailed behind me out of calculus one day and called my name. I turned around as kids knocked into my arms, noisily merging into the crowds rushing between classes. He put his hand on my elbow and ushered me aside, leaning over me, his face close to mine. I noticed a small blue stain on his white t-shirt in the middle of his chest and the faint scent of lemon verbena like we grew in our garden behind the apartment.

“We have that
test next Wednesday,” he said. “Could we study together? I’m really having trouble with this stuff.”

He
caught me off guard. I glanced up into the face that always unsettled me. “I don’t know.”

“We could g
o to the library after school.” He gave me one of his most disarming smiles, humble and pleading.

This was the Pete who teased me for my neatly printed
notes and perfect quiz scores. I struggled to think of clever comebacks, but only mumbled inane responses like a silly child. As our teacher went over formulas, I secretly studied the details of Pete’s profile, the curve of his fingers around his pencil, the way he ran his fingers through the side of his hair when he didn’t know an answer. Every girl in the school had a crush on him. He was a track and basketball star, quick with a joke, friendly with everyone. And yet he seemed remarkably unaware of the adoration of others, the way people tried to edge into the circle of his universe. As he tilted back in his chair at ease and unaware, I wondered what it would be like to have everything you ever wanted in life. How would such perfection feel? If only I could wear it for a day.

He waited for my answer
. I could say no and be done with it. Something deep inside me knew it was a mistake. But a little wrinkle in his forehead made me waver. It was only one afternoon.

“Okay.
Monday.”

“Perfect.”
He shifted his backpack on his shoulder. “Thanks.”

I watched him head down the hall and my knees shook.

On the Monday following the mid-term, Mrs. Garner handed back tests. She smiled at Pete. “You must have studied.”

“You bet
.” Pete grinned and held up his paper to show me the
B+,
Good Job
scrawled across the top of the page in red ink. “Not bad, huh?”

I smiled with a rush of pleasure. Our hour
studying together had been strictly business. Pete had abandoned his usual jokes and listened intently as I explained the problems.

He grabbed my test that was turned face down on my desk, grinning and shaking his head.
“I knew it. You only missed one.”

As we started out of class,
he cocked his head to one side. “Will you keep helping me? Any afternoon.” He leaned in and whispered, “I promised my mom I’d get a good grade. It’s really important to her.”

I couldn’t afford the time or temptation, but my resolve melted in his anxious gaze, the sweetness and lack of bravado with
which he spoke of his mother. “Maybe Wednesday at four o’clock? We can meet in the library.”

He blinked a few times
as if surprised by my answer. “Great! I’ll think of some way to repay you.”

I headed to Mary’s locker, confused and needing to talk to
her. But she raced to my side, panting and in another world. Kevin had asked her out for Friday night. Her contagious excitement rippled through me, yet in the middle of my chest a small ache settled. I wasn’t sure if it was jealousy or simply sadness that I could never experience such a moment. I longed to be like any other girl, able to go on a date with someone special, to share the anticipation and hopes, the giddy exhilaration. What magic floating across the skies could I conjure up to make Pete ask me out? How could I change the positions of the stars to make it possible to say yes?

Every other Wednesday Pete and I settled into the wooden chairs at the library and spread out books, notepads, and calculators. He would tease me or tell a silly joke before we focused on formulas and axioms. We lost track of time as one hour slipped into two, and I completely forgot about the responsibilities waiting for me at home.

He remained polite and appreciative during our sessions, never straying beyond the boundaries
of the tutoring relationship. I told myself this was best of course. It couldn’t be any other way. But no matter how hard I tried to guard against the inevitable, my attraction to him intensified. My eyes traced the curve of his ear lobe and the patterns of freckles down his nose and cheeks. I longed to brush my face against the pale lashes that fluttered as he squeezed his eyes tight with concentration. When he bent close over the math book, I inhaled the scent of his skin and hair, tangy with lemon and sweat. I felt his warm breath tickle my arm until my brain slipped into a trance and my body grew warm with a strange yearning. When he lifted his head and gazed into my eyes, his lips only a heartbeat from mine, I couldn’t hear or breathe.

The Wednesday before Thanksgiving break, Pete turned to me as I inserted papers into my not
ebook and got ready to go home. “Is there any way you could do this every week?” He ruffled the hair on the side of his head. “I’m getting A’s in all my other classes, and I really need one in math. My mom wants me to go to Stanford where she went.”

In my mind, I argu
ed back and forth with myself. I knew the best thing would be to end our sessions. But then again, he had asked nothing more of me than help with the math. The end of the semester was only a month away.

“Sure.
The review helps me too.”

“Great.”
He smiled and touched my arm, sending an electric wave through my body. “How about going over to Jerry’s for ice cream? My treat.”

“My mom’s expecting me, but thanks.”

He shrugged and gathered his things. “Are you going anywhere for Thanksgiving?”

“No.” I put my backpack on my shoulder as we headed for
the front of school in silence. Rain spilled out of the gutters and off the roof into great waterfalls that splashed onto the cement and sprinkled my legs. “What about you?”

“My f
amily is coming to our house.” Pete hunched his shoulders. “My mom’s been sick.”

“I hope she’s better.”

The muscles in his jaw rippled. “It’s cancer,” he said at last in a faint, hoarse voice. “But she’s going to be okay.”

I stopped, stunned by his revelation, unable to think of anything to say except I was sorry. His perfect life was marre
d by a tragic defect. Cancer. The word conjured up fear and dread, the probability of death. Now I understood his urgency to do well in math and please his mother. It touched me deep in my core. Like me, he staggered under the weight of a seriously ill mother and the anguish and uncertainty that clouded the future. I knew how it felt to hurt for a person you loved, the hopelessness of not being able to help. I wanted to support him through whatever might come. How could I possibly do less?